


2½ Years Later

by koalathebear



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>4 short scribbles written in response to my own fan fic challenge <a href="http://carrie-quinn.livejournal.com/37216.html">2½ Years Later</a>.  All of these were written after season 4 but before I saw anything in season 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2½ Years Later

**ficlet #1: Backpfeifengesicht**

"You're full of shit," she tells him scornfully as Quinn leans back in his chair and studies her narrowly.

"Look it up," he challenges her. "How long have you been in Germany now - I'd have thought you'd be more fluent by now," he taunts her,"Especially if you're dating a native speaker."

She shoots him a warning glance. He's smiling but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes which are very intent.

It feels like old times, working together, exchanging ideas ... but things are also very different. He's different. She hasn't asked him what he's been doing during the last two and a half years. She doesn't have to. There's a hardness in his eyes, a bleak grimness to the way he smiles that tells her everything she needs to know.

When they had met again, there had only been a moment's hesitation, a tiny loss of composure - eyes flicking off to the side with awkward recollection.

"We can't all be born linguists," she tells him.

"How does it feel being out?" he asks her suddenly, his voice dropping low.

"Great," she tells him and almost believes what she's saying. "You should try it sometime. Good for the soul."

"You know there's not much of that left to save," he tells her with a careless shrug and a bitter twist of his mouth.

"Keep telling yourself that and you'll never leave," she tells him and she reaches for the dictionary and looks up the word. "Fuck. It's really a word."

He smiles and this time it's a real smile. "I'm always right, Carrie," he tells her.

She's spent two and a half years telling herself that she's moved on, that she's a new person, that everything's changed.

"I guess I just found the German word for Peter Quinn," she tells him with a reluctant smile on her face.

It's five kinds of fucked up but she's ridiculously happy to see him again and that nothing's changed between them.

* * *

**ficlet #2: Kuddelmuddel**

_**Kuddelmuddel:** definition: an unstructured mess, chaos, or hodgepodge ..._

"Don't start," he tells her evenly.

"I didn't say anything," she retorts as they stride through the hallways of the US embassy.

"You were going to."

"Oh you're fucking mind-reader now?" she demands impatiently, shooting him a glare. "Nice to see that two and a half years later, you're still as annoying as fuck."

A muscle moves in his jaw. "You broke cover - what else was I supposed to do?"

"You're not my bodyguard, Quinn. You're just ..."

"Yes?" he demands. "What am I?"

"You're the cause of this ..." Carrie looks frustrated, searching desperately for a word to describe the situation.

"Fucking Kuddelmuddel?" he asks.

Carrie's lips twitch despite herself. "You made that up."

"Not my fault your German sucks."

* * *

**ficlet #3: Driving**

To say that it's awkward when he meets her at the airport is an understatement.

"Quinn," she blurts out, astonishment on her face.

"Carrie," he acknowledges with a slight nod.

"They sent you to get me?"

"Seems like."

She clears her throat. "Sorry I'm late ..."

"I know. Flight was delayed."

They are silent as they retrieve her bags and the drive to the embassy is even more strained.

"Guess you'll brief me at the embassy?"

"Do you still have a clearance?" he asks her.

She looks offended. "Yes. I'm a consultant." Then she glares at him. "You know damn well I'm still cleared."

He glances up into the rear vision mirror and their eyes meet momentarily. They both have questions. They both say nothing.

Carrie hesitates for a moment, hesitating before getting into the passenger seat. Quinn stares at her, his face expressionless but his eyes faintly sardonic.

Very deliberately, Carrie walks to the back door and slides into the back.

Quinn says nothing, a humourless smile curving his mouth as he gets into the driver's seat. He's bemused to find that two and a half years later, he's still driving Carrie around. She's made it clear that he's little more to her than her chauffeur.

* * *

**ficlet #4: Reunited**

Quinn opens his eyes slowly. For a moment, he doesn't know where he is. Then he remembers and he stiffens, his eyes wide open.

The fabric beneath his cheek is soft and clean … freshly laundered. He can smell the soft, elusive fragrance of perfume or soap. It's been a long time since he's slept so soundly. He turns his head and he can see Carrie sitting on the bed beside him, cross-legged and calm. She is uncharacteristically serene-looking. She is backlit by a beam of sunlight falling through the window and he can only see her silhouette.

"Morning," she tells him quietly.

She's pulled on some clothes since he last saw her – pyjama pants and a ratty old t-shirt. She's the best thing he's seen in a very, very long time … 

"What time is it?" he asks her, his voice slightly hoarse. She gestures towards the bedside table at a mug of steaming coffee and he reaches for it, takes a swallow and makes a sound of pleasure as the caffeine hits him. He takes another swallow and then puts the mug back down again.

She shrugs. "Doesn't matter. It's the weekend." She gives him a wry smile. He closes his eyes for a moment, reliving the night's …activities …

"Did I hurt you?" he asks her finally, guilt colouring his question.

She gives him a crooked smile and shows him the faint bruises on her arm … "You're more injured," she remarks, running her fingertips over the scratches on his back. "I'm fine," she reassures him. He relaxes, his relief obvious.

"Franny?" he asks her.

"She's gone back to bed, it's still really early."

"She's so big now."

"Well it's been two and a half years … children grow."

There's a long moment of silence. "So why are you here?" she asks him quietly. "Not that I'm not glad to see you but you vanish for two and a half years … ignore all my phone calls and letters … now I find you following me around Berlin …"

Suddenly, it's hard for him to talk. There's so much to say …

"OK, I'll keep my questions simple," she tells him, reaching out her hand to brush his hair from his face. "Where have you been?"

This he can handle. One question at a time.

"Syria."

"The whole time?"

He nods. "Till recently."

"Why are you here?"

"You. Because of you."

She frowns. "Why?"

He swallows hard. "Someone's trying to kill you."


End file.
